


Christmas Letters

by RuthieGreen



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:53:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27956435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuthieGreen/pseuds/RuthieGreen
Summary: What happened that Fall after the Summer of '75, when, at age 12, William and his sister Susannah were taken away by the nuns from their dissolute father? How did that experience shape him, and foreshadow the man he became? -From me to you: Happy Holidays!
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This is my attempt at an 'origins' tale, circa 1875. I have used as much 'canon' as I and my generous correspondents could muster, and when there was a conflict between Maureen Jennings's books and MM, I defaulted to the series—the rest I made up. Thank you Maureen for creating these wonderful characters we so enjoy and for leaving lovely 'holes' to back-fill with imagination. Thank you especially to Fallenbelle with whom this material was developed, IdBeDelighted for her wise counsel, "Dutch" & "46Her" for a beta read & "NR" ('Colleen Baird') for letting me spark ideas with her on the treadmill.

Christmas Letters  
Chapter One

SAINT CATHERINE OF ALEXANDRIA DAY, 1875

MY DEAR BROTHER WILL,

I PRAY THAT YOU ARE WELL & I ASK GOD EVERY NIGHT TO KEEP YOU SAFE & PROTECT YOUR SOUL.

I AM STILL EXCITED I CAN WRITE YOU NOW EVERY WEEK. TWO MONTHS WAS A LONG TIME TO GO WITHOUT HEARING FROM YOU! THE FIRST SUNDAY OF ADVENT IS THIS WEEK & I AM FEELING THE CALLING OF GOD TO PREPARE MY SOUL FOR HIM. AUNT EMILY SAYS I AM TO PRAY & ASK TO BE WORTHY OF HIS GRACE. TODAY IS SAINT CATHERINE'S FEAST DAY. I THINK SHE IS MY FAVOURITE SAINT BECAUSE SHE WATCHES OUT FOR GIRLS LIKE ME SO I AM GOING TO PRAY TO HER. I FEEL CLOSE TO HER, LIKE SHE IS PROTECTING ME LIKE YOU USED TO DO.

IT IS ONE MONTH UNTIL CHRISTMAS & YOU COME BACK! I AM CROSSING OFF THE DAYS ON THE CALENDAR I MADE. BY THE TIME YOU GET THIS IT WILL BE EVEN SOONER.

THANK YOU FOR THE BLUE HAIR RIBBON & THE BIG ORANGE MAPLE LEAF. THEY ARRIVED YESTERDAY IN ONE PIECE – HOW CLEVER YOU WERE TO FIND A WAY TO SEND THEM THAT KEPT THEM UNWRINKLED! AUNT EMILY LET ME WEAR THE RIBBON TODAY IN MY HAIR. SHE CAUTIONED ME AGAINST THE SIN OF PRIDE BUT NOW I LOOK LIKE THE OTHER GIRLS AT SCHOOL WHO HAVE RIBBONS THAT MATCH OUR SCHOOL PINAFORE. I MADE SURE THE RIBBON STAYED CLEAN & PRETTY & EVEN THOUGH I WAS SAD ABOUT THE RIBBON MOTHER GAVE ME WEARING OUT, I WAS HAPPY TO HAVE A NEW ONE FROM YOU AND I HAVE PUT THE OLD ONE IN THE BIBLE AS A BOOK MARK.

I PUT THE ORANGE LEAF IN THE BEDROOM WINDOW JUST AS YOU TOLD ME TO, RIGHT NEXT TO THE RED MAPLE & THE YELLOW ONE FROM YOUR LAST LETTER. YOU ARE RIGHT, DOING THAT IS LIKE HAVING STAINED GLASS & THE COLOURS SHINE IN THE ROOM. AUNT EMILY LET ME USE SOME CANDLE WAX & PRESS IT BETWEEN TWO PAPERS WITH THE HEAVY HAND IRON SO IT STAYS NICE.  
I LOOKED UP THE 'GENUS' & 'SPECIES' OF THE TREE & I FOUND IT TO BE VERY INTERESTING, JUST AS YOU SAID. AUNT EMILY LETS ME READ ANYTHING I WANT FROM HER BOOKS AT HOME. SHE HAS SO MANY, BUT NOT AS MANY AS YOU HAVE AT YOUR SCHOOL I GUESS AND NONE AS GOOD AS THE NEW DICTIONARY YOU HAVE!

I HOPE YOU ARE DOING WELL AT YOUR STUDIES. PLEASE TELL ME MORE ABOUT WHAT YOU ARE LEARNING IN YOUR CLASSES & ABOUT YOUR FRIENDS. I ALWAYS LIKED THAT BEFORE. HOW OFTEN ARE YOU ALLOWED OUTSIDE IN THE WOODS? ARE YOU ALLOWED TO MAKE OBJECTS LIKE YOU DID AT HOME?

DID YOU GET THE SNOW WE GOT ON MONDAY? WE HAD TROUBLE GETTING THE BACK DOOR OPEN BECAUSE OF THE DRIFTS AND IT HAS BEEN VERY COLD. AUNT EMILY HAS TAKEN IN A NEW BOARDER SO I AM SLEEPING IN HER ROOM ON THE TRUNDLE. I DO NOT MIND AS IT IS WARMER THERE.

IT HAS BEEN A WHOLE TWELVE WEEKS SINCE I BEGAN CLASSES. THE WALK TO SCHOOL WITH AUNT EMILY UP ROBINSON STREET AND OVER TO ALMA IS NOT TOO BAD EVEN WHEN THE WEATHER IS COLD, BUT WHEN THE WIND BLOWS IT MAKES IT HARD GOING. EVEN IN THE SHORT TIME SINCE YOU WERE AWAY THE TOWN HAS BEEN VERY BUSY BECAUSE OF THE RAIL ROADS AND IT HAS BEEN VERY LOUD. I LIKED TO HEAR THE SOUNDS OF THE SEA AND IT SEEMS STRANGE NOT TO HEAR IT ANY MORE. THE TIDAL BORE IS NOT THE SAME THING!

I WAS HAVING PROBLEMS GETTING USED TO THE SOUNDS OF ALL THE TRAINS BEHIND THE HOUSE, BUT NOW I LOOK FORWARD TO THEM BECAUSE I IMAGINE WHERE THE TRAIN IS GOING AND WHERE IT IS COMING FROM. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL HERE IS FULL OF CHILDERN FROM ALL OVER AND WE HAVE NEW STUDENTS COMING IN TO START SCHOOL EVERY WEEK, MOSTLY THE IRISH MOVING INTO THE VILLAGE BEFORE THE PORT CLOSES, AND I LIKE HOW THEY SOUND WHEN THEY SPEAK. AUNT EMILY SAYS THAT MOST OTHER CHILDREN HAVE SEVERAL BROTHERS & SISTERS BUT I DON'T MIND, I HAVE YOU!  
I THINK I AM DOING WELL IN MY CLASSES. I PROMISED I WOULD TELL YOU MORE ABOUT SCHOOL EVERY WEEK I WRITE— WE FINISHED MULTIPLICATION TABLES, & THIS WEEK WE STARTED FRACTIONS & ANGLES IN ARITHMETIC CLASS & I AM STILL AS GOOD AS THE BOYS! MY PENMANSHIP IS GOOD AS WELL & SOON I WILL BE TAUGHT THE SPENCER WAY OF WRITING, SO THE NEXT LETTER I SEND YOU I WILL PRACTICE THAT.

I GUESS SAINT AMBROSE IN PORTUGESE COVE WAS NOT AS NICE AS MY NEW SCHOOL HERE IN MONCTON, BUT I OVERHEARD AUNT EMILY SAYING I AM VERY GOOD AT READING & WRITING WHICH MAKES HER HAPPY THAT IT WAS A GOOD SCHOOL, SO I DID NOT HAVE ANY CATCHING UP TO DO. IN FACT I AM AHEAD OF MOST IN MY CLASS SINCE I HAVE FINISHED THE THIRD READER AND AM WORKING OUT OF THE FOURTH. I THINK THAT IS BECAUSE YOU HELPED ME WITH MY LESSONS, BUT I DON'T TELL HER THAT. SHE DOESN'T LIKE IT WHEN I TALK ABOUT YOU OR TELL HER I MISS YOU, BUT I CAN TELL YOU, RIGHT?

YOU WILL BE PROUD OF ME. INSTEAD OF JUST A BOOK REPORT, I WROTE MY FIRST WHOLE STORY THIS WEEK. IT IS ABOUT THE HABITS OF BEAVERS, WHICH WE HAVE BEEN LEARNING ABOUT, & I GOT TO READ IT IN FRONT OF THE CLASS. I MADE A COPY & WILL PUT IT IN THIS LETTER FOR YOU TO READ. WE WERE SUPPOSED TO MAKE UP A STORY THAT TELLS FACTS ABOUT WHAT WE LEARNED IN CLASS. MINE IS ABOUT BILLY THE BEAVER WHO IS THREE YEARS OLD & ABOUT HOW HE BUILDS HIS HOME & GETS FOOD & FINDS A FAMILY. MY TEACHER, MISS DUPRE SAYS I READ IT WELL IN CLASS TOO. MY FRENCH IS BETTER AS WELL. BUT I MISS SAINT AMBROSE SCHOOL. I WISH I WAS AT A CATHOLIC SCHOOL LIKE YOU ARE. AUNT EMILY SAYS THAT WE MUST NOT SHARE OUR FAITH WITH OTHERS AT SCHOOL BECAUSE THE SCHOOL WILL FROWN ON THAT. SHE SAYS I MUST WEAR MY CRUCIFIX UNDER MY DRESS AS SHE DOES, SO THE HEAD OF THE SCHOOL DOES NOT GET ANGRY. SHE SAYS THAT MY TEXTBOOK MUST NOT PERSUADE ME AWAY FROM MY FAITH BUT I DO NOT QUITE UNDERSTAND WHY SALVATION, RIGHTEOUSNESS AND PIETY ARE NOT GOOD FOR A CATHOLIC TO READ ABOUT.

WHY DON'T PEOPLE LIKE US, WILL? I MET ALMOST NO ONE WHO WAS NOT CATHOLIC BEFORE. IT MUST BE WONDERFUL TO BE ONLY WITH THOSE OF OUR FAITH AT ST. IGNATIUS. I HEAR THERE ARE PLANS FOR A GREAT NEW STONE CHURCH HERE TO REPLACE THE WOOD-FRAMED ST. BERNARD'S CHURCH & MAYBE A CONVENT & A SCHOOL IN MONCTON. I HOPE THEY HURRY UP SO I CAN GO THERE.  
IT IS STILL FEELS FUNNY TO GO TO THE SAME SCHOOL AUNT EMILY TEACHES AT, BUT I HAVE NOT MADE AN ERROR. I MAKE SURE TO CALL HER MISS WELDON AND SHE CALLS ME MISS MURDOCH. I AM STILL GETTING ALONG WITH MOST OF THE OTHER GIRLS & BOYS. I LIKE SCHOOL HERE & I HAVE BEEN A GOOD GIRL, JUST LIKE I PROMISED YOU I WOULD BE. I SAY MY PRAYERS & MY ROSARY, & READ MOTHER'S PRAYER BOOK EVERY DAY & I LEARN MY CATECHISM. I PRAY HARD NOW FOR THE GIRL I TOLD YOU WHO WAS MEAN TO ME, JUST LIKE FATHER KEEGAN TAUGHT US AT CHURCH, & YOU ARE RIGHT I SHOULD HAVE DONE THAT RIGHT AWAY. I FEEL BETTER THAT I DO.

AUNT EMILY MAKES SURE I GO TO SCHOOL & CHURCH & CLEAN & DO MY CHORES & BEHAVE LIKE A LADY, BUT SHE NEVER SMILES LIKE MOTHER DID. SHE SAYS THAT SHE CAN TELL MOTHER HAD NOT BEEN RAISING ME, TELLING ME I DO NOT HAVE SOCIAL GRACES, BUT I AM JUST SHY LIKE YOU ARE. AUNT EMILY SAYS I AM NOW A YOUNG LADY & NOT A LITTLE GIRL ANY MORE & SHE SAYS I CAN LEARN ABOUT KEEPING HOUSE TO HELP HER IN ADDITION TO EMBROIDERY. I QUITE LIKE IT BECAUSE I WILL BE LEARNING TO BAKE BREAD THIS WEEK & WHEN I GET GOOD AT IT, THAT WILL BE MY CHORE HERE TOO AND HELPING WITH MEALS FOR HER TWO BOARDERS. I HAVE PUT AWAY THE DOLLY YOU MADE ME ON A SHELF BUT I CANNOT BEAR TO PART WITH IT EVEN IF I AM NOT A GIRL ANY MORE & NO LONGER PLAY WITH IT.

AUNT EMILY SAYS WHEN YOU COME HOME ON CHRISTMAS EVE WE WILL GO TO BED EARLY THEN GET UP & GO BY SLEIGH TO SAINT BERNARD WHERE FATHER MURRAY WILL SAY MASS THIS YEAR INSTEAD OF AT SAINT ANSELME. SHE SAYS IT IS A TRADITION HERE FROM WHEN THE ACADIANS WERE SENT AWAY. WHEN I HEAR THAT STORY I CRIED TO LEARN ABOUT PEOPLE BEING SENT AWAY. I PRAY THEY HAD GOD WITH THEM ON THEIR JOURNEY.

YOU ASKED ABOUT FATHER KEEGAN, BUT HE HAS NOT SENT YOU ANY LETTER HERE. I WILL SAVE ANYTHING THAT COMES FOR YOU UNTIL I SEE YOU NEXT MONTH. AUNT EMILY HAS ALSO NOT HEARD FROM OUR FATHER BUT A SMALL PARCEL ARRIVED FROM BACK HOME WITH A PICTURE OF MOTHER AND A ROSARY THAT I THINK I REMEMBER BELONGED TO HER. AUNT EMILY SAYS THE NOTE SAID EVERYTHING ELSE FROM OUR COTTAGE WAS SOLD TO PAY FATHER'S DEBTS AND THAT WHEN HE FINISHED TIME IN JAIL HE LEFT. NOTHING ELSE. I LISTENED TO WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT FORGIVING FATHER. AUNT EMILY SAYS HE WAS MOTHER'S CROSS TO BEAR AND SHE SEEMS ANGRY SOMETIMES AT HIM. SHE SAYS SHE HOPES I DON'T WASTE MY LIFE LIKE MOTHER DID AND WANTS ME TO BE A TEACHER LIKE HER AND LIKE MOTHER WAS SUPPOSED TO BE BEFORE MARRYING FATHER. I STILL MISS MOTHER. I PRAY FOR MOTHER'S SOUL EVERY DAY & AUNT EMILY LET ME LIGHT A CANDLE. I PRAY FOR YOU AS WELL.  
PLEASE COME BACK SOON.

YOUR DEVOTED,  
SISTER SUSANNAH

Susannah put her pen down and examined the letter, pleased that her words were properly formed and there was not a single smudge mark or ink blot anywhere. Perfect! She continued to blow on the page to set the ink, enjoying the flutter sound it made when air moved across the paper. There was just enough light coming through the window to create a colourful glow through large hand-shaped leaves affixed to the panes. The envelope was already addressed to William in care of St. Ignatius, and merely awaited insertion of the pages she was carefully drying. As she blew on the paper, her eye returned to an oval picture frame, back-lit by the sun.

Mother.

Susannah had tried very hard to keep the memory of what her mother looked like, sounded like, smelled like…and was ashamed to realize the image in her mind had faded or became distorted over the past four years, like when ink on a page gets wet and runs or the sun bleaches it out.

It is wonderful to have such a keepsake of Mother, Susannah told herself as she smiled at the picture, then in an instant, emotion welled up when remembering how she felt when she received the portrait, only stopping her weeping when Aunt Emily cleared her throat loudly at such an emotional display. She sighed, looking at her own face reflected in the window and the framed picture positioned beside it, twin images of brown hair, pale skin, and deep-set, almond shaped eyes.

Susannah was tempted to enclose the image of their mother for William to have along with the copy of her beaver story, but hesitated, drawn once more to the figure with dark hair and an open face that looked back at her from a brass-framed daguerreotype. No. The picture is too fragile, she realized, and repositioned it carefully on the deep window sill next to a small box containing her mother's delicate olive-wood rosary and a wooden model of a ship. She nodded decisively. I shall show Will when he gets here and let him choose.

Susannah looked again at the image: there was no smile in it, of course, but Susannah remembered her mother's lively brown eyes and high cheeks which drew up even further when she was happy. I know William misses her too, she thought. But, right now I miss him even more.

Satisfied that her pages would not smudge, she carefully creased and folded them, then slipped them into the envelope putting on the bright, compliant smile she'd been wearing for her aunt's sake, donned mostly to hide how lonely she was without her brother. Susannah lit a candle and dotted the back of the envelope flap with wax, then pressed her thumb in the tiny, hot pool. There you go, Will!  
She'd never say so to him, but for the first few weeks after he left, it felt to her as if she could not take in a full breath. Aunt Emily remained unsympathetic to her distress, which no amount of distraction or chores could alleviate, encouraging prayer as the only way for Susannah to loosen her chest enough to inhale. Emily Weldonwas nothing but correct in her Christian duty; however she was also clear that sadness, most difficult feelings in fact, were due to a lack of faith in God's plan and therefore evidence of moral weakness. That was not allowed in her home. Susannah found taking her aunt's advice difficult but she put her best effort into showing how strong her faith could be. And to make Mother proud, she thought, taking a final glance at her mother's face in the picture frame.

Susannah turned to examine the wax seal to make sure it was set, patted the finished envelope, and gave it a loving kiss. Then she got on her knees and folded her hands to pray:  
Dear William. Come back soon!

# # #

SAINT ANDREW, APOSTLE FEAST DAY, 1875

"Whatcha' got there William?"

One of the boys called attention to the pages in his hand, startling William back to the present. Communication to first-year students from outside of the school was forbidden for the first eight weeks, ostensibly to allow the new students to adjust as well as impress upon them discipline from the Jesuits. To be out of touch with the 'world' was not an issue for William, but to lose contact with Susannah for such a long time period was difficult. It left him with an odd, twisty feeling in his belly that he'd never felt before, but guessed it was the same one that left at least one boy sobbing at night well into the second month of school and the reason that boy will not be coming back after the new year. Homesick, they called it. He clenched his jaw. Letters, when they finally arrived at the school in Fredericton, were greedily consumed and shared by the classmates.

William immediately clamped down hard on his reactions lest he betray them-something he was adept at by now. He and Susannah had been separated briefly in the past, four weeks just this summer in fact, but never for this long and never after so much upheaval. Looking 'round to make sure no one saw tears which were threatening to collect in his eyes, William took out his remaining clean handkerchief and blew his nose, pretending all the while his ague had caught up with him again. Men do not cry, William reminded himself, and he knew each twelve-year-old boy in this room was desperately labouring to show his fitness for manhood, himself included. The handkerchief gave him a moment to gather enough composure to show his face to the other boys who were making last minute 'underground economy' exchanges of small items, bartering arrangements and negotiating favours, while gathered around a small Ilion coal heating stove in the common area of their room where all the first-year boys slept.

What is wrong with me? he grumbled to himself; his living arrangements were at the sufferance of his aunt. Anyone would think I am pining for a home which no longer exists.

Late November snow battered the windows, driven by bitter gales sweeping down from the north and west, causing the heater to lose its battle with frost accumulating on the inside of the panes. William was used to the cold (as well as being used to never complaining, aware it did no good) so the bite of the freezing weather did not bother him as much as some of his classmates. Never-the-less, all the boys shivered and most were not looking forward to retreating to their frigid, stacked beds, so they loitered by the stove after Compline and beyond lights-out time, risking the mighty wrath of Brother Gregory, whose job it was to see to order in the dormitory at St. Ignatius. William's bed was particularly cold, situated in a corner near one of the windows that whistled air through it no matter how carefully the boys or Brother Gregory stuffed it. On the other hand, the window made it possible for William to occasionally read by moonlight, so he accepted the idea that a benefit often comes with a cost; besides he already had an idea how to block the wind with a combination of clay and discarded fibres he'd been hoarding. Tonight the moon was near dark; hence he tried to reread his sister's letter by the room's light before bed.

He assessed where the query came from while quickly pinching the pages together and slipping them into his pocket out of sight. Was it one of the boys that teased him for having mail from a sister? No. That's just Percy Albany, but I don't want to talk about it. "Nothing, Percy," and he sneezed again for good measure, nearly obscuring the sound of Brother Gregory's tread in the hallway. One boy doused the remaining oil lamp then all eighteen of them fled immediately over icy wooden floor boards to their bunks before the door opened silently and the Brother's own lantern-light revealed only supposedly obedient, sleeping figures. William did not think Brother Gregory was fooled for a minute, but as he had no grounds to punish the lot of them for the actions of a single slow-poke, the boys merely waited him out until he closed the door with a harrumph before moving down the hall to four other similar rooms, then on to his own collective sleeping quarters. William could feel the tension in the room subside as some of the boys started whispering when their guardian retreated.

William turned over to lay on his side with his head facing the window and stealthily retrieved the letter from his nightgown's pocket to tuck inside his pillow for safekeeping. His other treasures were neatly lined up on a small shelf built into his bunk. In the dim light William admired the leather of his most cherished possession: The Imperial Dictionary, English, Technological, and Scientific, Adapted to the Present State of Literature, Science, and Art; On the Basis of Webster's English Dictionary. The Dictionary, which William generously shared, was the envy of his classmates and a few students in the upper grades as well. In the school library was yet another bonus. Each school which offered a scholarship to one of the chosen Young Scholars received a subscription to Encyclopedia Britannica, the 9th Edition, so the whole school benefitted from that.

William wiggled on his thin mattress.

Sleeping on his side felt better, since his back-side and thighs still bore bruises from a thrashing he endured for speaking out of turn and he remained angry at himself for the error. In class he'd gotten so excited he rose from his seat, drawn like a magnet to the experiment being demonstrated by Brother Gabriel and blurted out the answer, which violated the rule about needing to be invited to speak, let alone having the temerity to leave his seat. The teacher caned him to make an example to the class and William was shocked at how much it hurt, as he'd never been punished before, always careful to learn the rules and behave exactly as expected- which did not necessarily endear him to his classmates.

William was developing a reputation for being entirely too serious and, worse yet, a know-it-all, which troubled him and set him awkwardly, frustratingly, apart from most of his classmates. He battled himself daily over it, and found no solution that suited him, so far. However, when he did not cry or make any sort of noise during the caning, this raised his status with his peers in an odd way which he failed to understand, but he accepted the slight change in their relationship the way he was coming to accept all else: with faith. 'Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope' was what he repeated to himself while submitting to the pain.

Turning away to the window also allowed him to hide his feelings: leaving Susannah for St. Ignatius was harder than he ever thought it would be, her letter today being a pointed reminder. In his mind's eye he recalled coming come back from his Governor General's sojourn in the wilderness, full of excitement and trying not to dream of going to University - only to find his father, Harry, in jail for as long as four or five months as a consequence of a drunken brawl and Susannah lodging with neighbors. He retrieved her and set them up in their cottage as he always did while their father was working or away, careful to keep a low profile and everything running smoothly. Unfortunately, this time the Catholic Sister's found out he and Susannah were unsupervised and the women decided they had to intervene by bringing the siblings to a house for safekeeping until a decision was made about disposing of them. Not even Father Keegan could intercede.

William had to act fast to avoid the nuns sending him and his sister away to a Home, or at minimum separating Susannah from him by taking her to an orphanage while he was parceled out to work. He remembered counting out the little bit of money he had hidden away from their father's clutches, hoping it was enough to take him and her as far as their Aunt Emily in Moncton, having no clear idea what awaited them at the end of the journey. He packed some belongings then fetched his sister out the back door of the house, his heart pounding for fear of being caught. It took an entire day to get the fifteen miles north up the coast to the big port city of Halifax, by walking and hitching a ride with a farmer, carrying only what fit into his ruck-sack and a small case for his sister.

At the train station in Halifax he made himself hand over the coins with a confidence he did not feel, and used every ounce of sincerity to sell his 'little white lie' of how their parents were ill, perhaps dying, and it was imperative they get to Moncton before it was too late. The ticket agent was skeptical of course, but he offered kindness and even gave Susannah a currant-laced sticky bun to eat while they waited to board. William's nerves did not settle down until the Intercolonial locomotive started to move, juddering and whining on the tracks for its slow progress north, away from everything and everyone they'd come to know.

Susannah slept in his arms for most of the 160 miles and twenty-seven stops northward, where they arrived in Moncton stiff and hungry since he had only enough money for a small loaf of bread purchased along the way, feeding his sister for two small meals. It wasn't the first time he'd gone without to care for her, doing so proudly and without complaint. Unlike our selfish father, he thought.  
William straightened her dress and smoothed her hair, then took his sister's hand and walked the few blocks from the station to Aunt Emily's door, quietly reassuring Susannah that everything would be all right when he had no idea if that was another lie. He'd impulsively chosen to come here only because he had no other recourse and was starting to regret the decision-all their money was gone and there was no going back. They stood for a long minute on their aunt's porch, with William trying to get the nerve up to knock. "Go on, Will, it's just Aunt Emily," Susannah's small voice eventually prompted him, startling him out of immobility and into embarrassment at his reluctance.

Aunt Emily, her brown hair in a simple bun with a white apron slung over a dark dress, answered the door in surprise and immediate consternation, dusting flour off her hands. "What are you two doing here?" were her first words. Not a greeting. Not 'hello', William observed.

Indeed. What are we doing here and how can I explain what has happened in the four years since we have seen you, the four years since your sister, our mother, passed away? he wondered. William stood as tall as he could make himself, took in a deep breath and began his humble entreaty. He hoped to persuade the dour schoolteacher that taking them in, permanently this time, was the right thing to do, by reassuring her he'd work hard to earn their keep and not be a burden, and that Susannah would help around the house and learn to sew; he did not allude to the fact it would cost him continuing with school. William recalled the power of his gratitude when Aunt Emily looked him and Susannah up and down with a final shrewd assessment, then lifted the corners of her lips ever so briefly before widening her doorway to admit them, the bargain having been struck.

Susannah, for her part, accepted their adventure to Moncton at first because she had foggy but pleasant memories of their aunt from when they'd fled there before with Mother a time or two, to get away from Harry or when they rented the cottage out for desperately needed income. Before, Mother always eventually brought them back to their house in Portuguese Cove. His sister melted into tears when she realized there was no going back this time & William held her again on his aunt's porch swing, trying once more to explain the cruelty of life to an innocent nine year old and having no better words for their father's abandonment than when he had to tell her of their mother's death.

Outside the dormitory window, trees creaked and moaned under their burden of wet snow as a sudden bright flash, followed by a roar, penetrated the room. Several of the boys ran to the window so take in such a rare occurrence. Thunder-snow! one said in awe. Amazing, frightening, said two more.

William agreed silently: It's a good thing I am not sleeping outside today. He snuggled deeper into the wool blankets on his bed and listened to the window rattle, hoping for sleep if only the noise would die down. Like his sister, he too missed the sounds of the sea…but not the bang and clang of trains behind his aunt's house. He recalled he'd been working at the rail yard in Moncton for two weeks when Aunt Emily had surprised him by summoning him aside through the kitchen door. He slept on the side porch—it was not proper for him to share a bed or bedroom with his sister or his aunt, and considering the remaining room was rented to another female boarder, the plan was for him to sleep out there on the porch until it got too cold at which time he'd make a space in the attic for winter. Sleeping out of doors was supposedly healthful, and since the tail end of August's weather had been fine, he actually liked it better than being inside, even if the healthfulness of sleeping out of door was mocked somewhat by the grit and exhaust from the train-yard a block over.

Aunt Emily motioned for him to walk behind the house where it was more private. She had looked at him with such a fierce glare he started racing inside his skin, fearful that he'd upset her or that she'd changed her mind and they had to leave. His mouth was parched and his eyes wide and wary when she finally spoke. "William. It has come to my attention that you have been less than forthcoming with me."

Being called a liar caught him off guard. His mouth slacked open, and he felt scared and angry. He had no idea what she was talking about and stuttered a defense which she overrode with a scowl and a raised hand bearing a stiff envelope. "I have it on good authority you secured an academic prize—the Scholar from Nova Scotia was it? You have been admitted to St. Ignatius in Fredericton and are to present yourself there in ten days. Your mother would never allow you to miss such an opportunity for a quality and Catholic education, nephew, and neither shall I. That scholarship will not go to waste." She handed him a letter that was forwarded from their coastal village.

William scanned the letter rapidly. In it was a list of instructions about starting school. William's heart pounded-Father Keegan had recommended St. Ignatius and had been the one to put William's name forward to the school. He remembered how his face flamed red because he'd forgotten to write and decline admission, unable it seemed in retrospect, to give up all hope. He had been pretty sure that instead of school after enjoying his summer with other Young Scholars, he'd be returning to Portuguese Cove to find work to keep him and his sister going and the cottage roof over their heads. In fact, Harry was not particularly supportive of formal education beyond the basic ability to read, write and do sums, and fought Father Keegan about allowing William to accept his prize in the first place. William suspected in the end Harry would have sabotaged any thought William had about actually enrolling at St. Ignatius, one way or another.

At the time William tried to be realistic. Even if Harry had been free to work and not jailed with a pile of debts, their father was erratic and unreliable. The very idea of a scholarship to a fine Catholic secondary school like St. Ignatius was a brutal tease: he believed it was going to be impossible for him to go, so he accepted his fate, compartmentalizing his disappointment like setting aside a variable in a math problem. There were other things to work on first, such as supporting his sister and himself.

Which was why William stood there, dumbfounded, in Aunt Emily's tiny yard with the near constant rumble of engines and train cars as accompaniment while she gave him a small pouch of coins, the sum of his wages which he had already turned over to her. If it were possible for her to show it, he thought for all the world at that moment she might have been proud of his accomplishment. "Here. This will get you a few items from your list and a train ticket there. See that you earn the rest of it before you leave."

William blinked a few times more times in shock, then proceeded to forget himself and launch into her arms. She hugged him once then firmly set him back, clearing her throat and assuming a stern demeanor. "I will take care of Susannah, and without you around there will be one less mouth to feed," she said, stating a more prosaic reason for his departure, since the school would provide him education, room and board for as much as nine or ten months of the year. "I leave it up to you to make your arrangements and to tell your sister."

William turned over in bed and pulled the blanket over his head in frustration. Not again! he groaned to himself. He remembered his feeling of elation about going to school was immediately pierced by how awful it was to see the look on Susannah's face when he gave her the news, so much like when their father would take off for parts unknown. He felt cruel and heartless, struggling for words to explain that somehow it was for the best that he go. It was that much worse to then tell her they were allowed no contact for two months. He'd witnessing the play of emotions on her tender young face, before she managed a brave façade. Out of respect for her dignity he accepted her stilted and oh-so-correct well-wishes, putting on an act of decorum for their aunt to view and approve. It was only later on when he fetched her for dinner he could hold her slim shoulders while she sobbed out of earshot of the house, calling himself a traitor for leaving. 

The memory gave William's guts another twist:  
Now I have to tell her I will not be with her for Christmas.

# # #


	2. Chapter two

Chapter 2: Chapter 2  
________________________________________  
Christmas Letters  
Chapter Two

DECEMBER 11, 1875

William drew the thread between even white teeth to break the strand, then handed the finished product to one boy while accepting the next item from another hand. The Jesuits at St. Ignatius emphasized cooperation and self-sufficiency along with the expected academic rigor and dedication to the Catholic faith. The school grew most of its own food, did its own laundry and cleaning, took care of the building and grounds, with students and the teachers all taking part, giving more responsibility to students in the higher years. Each first-year boy was introduced to all aspects of running the school, whether they were made for the task or not: 'Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam.'

In William's case, among other assignments, that meant he was sent to pull up endless rows of sod for new vegetable beds until his back, arms and shoulders burned and his hands became numb, never daring to complain as he laboured alongside Brother Francis who was literally five times older, brown as a nut and wise in agriculture. At least I am not on a boat! William reminded himself each day under the blazing September sun as soil was exposed, the rocks removed and cultivated by hand.

All of that was well and good; William accepted it. In the dormitory it was also supposed to mean that each boy was equal to any other and supposed to charitably assist his peers. Of course, that was easier said than done in a bare three months when the first-year boys came from such different backgrounds, with expectations formed during disparate experiences in their, albeit young, lives. It had taken William some adjustment to be counted amongst the youngest and lowest ranked class at school, since he had been used to independence, adult responsibilities and a certain latitude in his behaviors back in Portuguese Cove. There was a bewildering array of rules and a complicated hierarchy at St. Ignatius to understand and appreciate that ran counter to some of his upbringing as well.  
Like William, each student arrived with a pre-determined, if often unarticulated understanding of where they 'fit' in a larger group, and despite the best efforts of the Fathers to create an egalitarian environment, it took no time at all for the boys to size each other up and develop a hierarchy of sorts—the leaders, the followers, the funny ones, the serious ones. In even less time, it became obvious which boys brought valuable talents to their collective good outcomes since the teachers dealt with each class of students as a whole when it came to reward and punishment. The boys, therefore, were forced to share their 'wealth': pen knives, paper, ink and writing instruments, books and amusements, down to shoe laces and boot black, always on the lookout for a tool or talent as required, since all available resources were to be exhausted before one could ask Brother Gregory for any supplies.

It turned out, in addition to a coveted personal dictionary, an Aristo slide rule and an inquisitive mind with a gift for memorization, William possessed a unique set of fine-motor skills, such as fixing small objects, excellent penmanship and sewing. William began learning the art at age seven to help his mother as her eyes failed for reading or close work, and he kept his father, sister and himself adequately pieced together – at least enough to avoid embarrassment. He kept the ability a secret until he was about ten, when he saw Father Keegan darning a sock whilst he visited the priest's sitting room for tea and chess one evening. "But Father, you have Mrs. Walker to do that for you. Why are you doing that yourself?" William's curiosity having overtaken his manners.

Father Keegan had set his work down, and gave his pint-sized interlocutor serious consideration before speaking. "Young William, no labour is beneath a man, and it is good for a man to be self-sufficient, especially a man with a religious vocation such as myself. Besides, if you know how to do something correctly yourself, will you not then be able to evaluate the quality of the work done by someone else?"Father Keegan's words rang true, allowing William to feel satisfied with his skills with a needle and moving himself one slight increment further to becoming more like the priest.  
Best of all, in the confines of the first-year dormitory room, William possessed the only privately-owned implements for garment repair: three precious needles and white and dark coloured thread, a gift from Aunt Emily. This was important because the students were expected to be clean and presentable, and twelve-year-old boys were…well, boys after all. To present to class or a meal or God-forbid - Mass, with a torn seam or missing a button was to risk a penalty.

William just finished the last button and was working on turning a set of cuffs for his bunk-mate's white shirt after cutting the sleeves carefully apart with the whisper of a fine razor along the seams. The razor was on loan from James Pincher whose father sent him off to school with a shaving kit in the expectation of puberty of striking his son at any minute. Alas, the kit was likely to languish several more years, but made for excellent bartering. James had just gotten his buttons reattached in a three-way bargain, and William would get a penny from Robert, since there was nothing else he wanted or needed and especially since Robert ruined the last sewing job, which William did for him out of charity and kindness. This time was strictly business.

After maneuvering the pieces of cloth back together, William set about making precise rows of new stitches in the linen. This activity absorbed his concentration and took his mind temporarily off of Christmas, only two weeks away, and his woe about not seeing Susannah. He'd posted her a vague-sounding letter at one cent an ounce, ashamed of his cowardice in not telling her, out-right, he could not come, hoping she would read between the lines or even suggest it was best he stayed on in Fredericton. The dilemma vexed him and confession did not cleanse him of the idea he was not being truthful. He supposed in reality he still held out hope he could make the journey of more than one hundred miles back to Moncton. Letters to Susannah were cheaper, but not the same as being together. If only I had figured this out sooner! he had railed at himself.

He wracked his brain trying to imagine what Father Keegan would advise him to do, what guidance the old priest would have given him, other than prayer. William had always been able to count on Father Keegan in a way he'd never been able to trust from Harry, he thought sourly, then sighed. William had long ago refused to title the man 'father,' at least in his own mind, regardless of how often Father Keegan told him that it was a sin to dishonour his parent - one area of stubborn defiance in otherwise willing obedience to whatever the Father asked of him. He bit the inside of his cheek in irritation. I listened to Father Keegan who told me it would be all right to go away for a month with the other young scholars: but that was what started all this, how Susannah end I ended up at Aunt Emily's in the first place, after some well-meaning, meddlesome person, called in the nuns.

At St. Ignatius, William remain tight-lipped about his family, having seen firsthand how quickly information could be used against a person; he also saw how certain boys were treated depending on their family circumstances, given pity or misery for it, which William found abhorrent. His mother was dead and his father in jail at the time he arrived at the school-hardly topics of polite conversation. He therefore said nothing about his life or upcoming plans for the school break, not an easy thing to do in a small community of only eighteen souls gathered in one sleeping room.

William shook his head and chastised himself sarcastically. You are so good at math, aren't you?! At a penny per mile, it cost approximately one dollar and six cents to get to Aunt Emily's house; two and twelve for the round trip assuming he could somehow ride from the school to the rail station for free. Coins were seldom exchanged amongst the students, besides which the practice was rather heavily frowned upon since there was an unfair advantage then to being one of the wealthier students. Gambling, of course was absolutely prohibited. For the most part the boys, at least in the first- year dorm, complied.

William only had enough money to get back to Moncton at the end of term in June. He had come to Fredericton without calculating a second trip at Christmas time, so if he went to see his sister now he'd be unable to get back to Fredericton in January, effectively exiting school after only one semester. He never saw himself as poor before-his family owned their house and Harry, when he worked and did not drink or gamble his wages away, brought in an income adequate to support their modest family. William understood perfectly well Aunt Emily survived on barely five-dollars-a-week teacher's wages plus a stipend from her boarders, and was supporting Susannah after all. His aunt made it clear he could not appeal to her for monetary help, and it was hardly her fault he'd neglected to factor in two trips from Moncton to Fredericton.

At a penny a shirt, there are not enough cuffs and collars in the whole school to get me to Susannah, he grumbled silently. Yet, I must still try.

William held the finished job up, examining his work with a keen eye, good eyesight being the only positive legacy from Harry which William was open to acknowledging. He nodded in satisfaction and bit the thread. "Robert, I will not be able to flip and turn this one again as you are out of clean, unfrayed edges. Since you are so untidy you must at least learn to roll up your sleeves!" William admonished his friend. A moan from Robert was the only acknowledgement upon forfeiting a copper to William's awaiting palm. William's own shirts remained a preternaturally snowy white and so far he had not divulged to anyone why that was and how it was accomplished…

"Anyone else?" William called out to the room. It was Saturday evening after prayers and before bed time so it was the last opportunity for a quick wardrobe fix. A high voice answered. "Henry! You split your trousers and I don't think your repair will withstand another Sunday Mass!" Laughter began at Henry's expense as another boy chimed in, a Highlands lilt in his joke. "Aye. Too much kneelin'. Better have Will there do you up right. Your under-drawers are a sight no one wants to have and you can afford the cost!"

William rose to Henry's defense while the room tittered good-naturedly. "Now, gentlemen. Careful how you say that or Brother Gregory will ask each one of you to lay your clothing out for inspection. It would be a shame to find out where his missing dried plums got to, considering how they stick and stain and all. Henry, bring your trousers over and I will see what I can do." The room's laughter erupted again, this time at the two boys who poked fun at Henry. "How did you know…? You always find out…!" they protested.

William just smiled. His classmates were occasionally nervous about his powers of observation, but as he never used the information against anyone in a mean way, it was just an oddity about him they accepted. He laid Henry's school uniform trousers out flat to examine the damage, calculating how much of his remaining dark thread the rip would consume, since it was in the actual cloth and not just a seam. He decided Father Keegan would approve of him asking for a small gratuity for his sewing skills. After all, the priest accepted no compromise with the devil regarding transgressions against the Commandments, and firmly believed in Justice flowing from the Rule of Law. Moreover, Father Keegan approved of his parishioners treating each other with fairness, kindness and decency and disapproved most vehemently of sin and bad habits that harmed the victims and well as the perpetrators. William grinned again. In other areas Father Keegan was agnostic. Somewhere in there, William rationalized, was room to collect a small remuneration for a job well done.

"Henry," he said softly, trying to think where he could acquire more thread to replace what he was about to use up. "It will cost you far more to replace these trousers than to repair them—this time. Also assuming you use the gate instead of going over the fence from now on." William paused, staring briefly into space before narrowing his eyes and swiveling his head until his gaze rested on his target, the smallest of their class. "Gavin! How much blanket cloth do you have? I need a piece about…." William measured with his hand, "seven inches long and two inches wide. What do you want for it?"  
Gavin pushed his glasses up on his face and frowned. Several of the other boys were lurking to see what kind of three-way trade Gavin would agree to. Being the smallest boy and not needing the whole length of the bed to sleep in, he had 'extra' blanket from his bunk that was being stealthily eaten up a little at a time for repairs like this. Doing a favour involving both Henry and William at the same time was a bit of a coup and if he worked it correctly he might inch up in his standing with the whole class. William looked at him closely, seemingly aware of the calculation.

"I need help understanding how to use my slide-rule. Will you go over it with me?" Gavin asked, pleased that he requested something that other classmates were bewildered by as well.

William smiled broadly with a nod, and thought. Good one, Gavin! Part one accomplished. He turned to Henry. "How much money did your father send you…?" William quietly bargained for a good price for what was going to be a tedious job, then cleared his throat and began to explain the workings of a slide rule. "Gavin, if you take your instrument out, you will notice that there are three parallel strips the same length and that the centre one can be moved. The slide rule uses two logarithmic scales to allow rapid multiplication and division of numbers…" William warmed to his subject, occasionally pausing in mid-stitch to point out something on the instrument in a pedantic manner, perfectly aware other boys were listening in to the lecture Gavin cleverly arranged for them all. He smirked briefly. Being a "know- it- all" did not mean my assistance was rejected, it seemed, especially if it was delivered in this off-hand sort of way. He surveyed his audience from underneath his eyelashes. The two classmates, Marcus and Thomas who had teased Henry, appeared just as interested in a refresher on slide rule calculations as little Gavin did. Humm, he thought, I wonder…

# # #

DECEMBER 19, 1875

"My Dear Sister Susannah—  
May God keep you. Please give my greetings to Aunt Emily. It was wonderful to receive your last letter and to hear about your new friend at school. It sounds as if she is a good girl and a fit companion for you. Thank you for sending me a bit of thread, you are right I have been making use of it and it will be helpful. We received the same snow storm that you did, but not enough to stop the trains. I wanted to tell you that your penmanship is improving quickly, I…."

William put his pencil down in disgust. The weather? Her penmanship?! He made a loud, frustrated noise. A waste of paper and I still haven't told her. This was his second attempt at writing to say he would not be in Moncton for Christmas, and it went no better than the first letter, already repurposed for equations from math class. The bottom of his foot locker contained exactly one dollar and fifty-four cents, squirreled away in a sock. It might as well be a hundred and fifty-four acorns, he silently complained, because it was just not enough to get him a round trip to see Susannah. He knew he was whining and that merely added to his bad mood. There were other students who would be staying on over the break, he reminded himself, and William bought the argument that it will be interesting, nay beneficial, to scrape an acquaintance with a student or two in the upper grades who could hold a decent conversation about scientific principles, and use the holiday break to explore the library in peace and quiet, including the first installment of the new Encyclopedia, for which he allowed himself a bit of pride about securing such a wonderful addition to the school.

Well, almost, bought the argument…

Alone on his dormitory bunk, he mulled the problem over and over in his mind, then turned the abandoned letter over to make a drawing representing his thoughts, the facts as he knew them, and options. The real problem was that there were not even enough coins available for him to somehow earn. Too late. Too late! Again and again those words echoed in his head. At the end of the semester most of the boys were out of funds other than what was deposited with the school bursar and for which a purpose and receipt was necessary. If it was not preapproved by the parents, the money did not flow out of the account. Period. William's money for a train ticket home in June was deposited there as well. He refused to wager or to seek payment for activities he thought of as out- of- bounds, but William made himself as useful as possible in the hopes of earning train fare. He reckoned he had effectively scooped up all the available loose change to which he had any access, and which could accumulate in his hands unnoticed by Brother Gregory, or, he shuddered involuntarily here, Father O'Brien the Headmaster.

Too Late! If I had thought about this sooner I could have done something… He cut his musings off abruptly and sighed deeply, scrubbing his face with his hands.

Father Keegan had taught him that where there was a will there was a way, but that at the end, acceptance and joy were necessary accompaniments to being blocked from one's desires, and letting go of the desire was to embrace God's will. "This is a hard lesson for a boy," Father Keegan explained, "but necessary when you become a man, necessary to become a man." William was always a little confused about what that actually meant-to strive and strive until there was nothing left to say or do, and then turn around and accept the outcome with joy even when it was a bitter disappointment made no sense.

"How does one do that, Father? It is not logical."

"Perhaps," Father Keegan answered. "Never-the-less it is true."

William rubbed his eyes again, then alighted on his Dictionary sitting proudly on the small shelf. He had no trouble envisioning the inscription placed on the frontispiece, flowing in a fine copperplate script: 'To William Murdoch with my blessing, Fr. Keegan.'

William had been floored by the gift, unable to sputter a 'thank you' fitting the magnitude and dignity of such a fine present, while standing in the priest's sitting room trying to contain his emotions. He'd never owned such a splendid book before and certainly nothing that was brand new-he remembered his hands trembled against the hard cover. It was not just the book for the book's sake, it was what it represented from a man he admired and wished to emulate more than anything he ever wanted in his young life. William nearly broke down when the priest offered his hand to shake, man-to-man, then patted William on the shoulder and sent him on his way home with feet that seemed to barely skim the ground. The new Encyclopedia was exciting, but it was the Dictionary which William poured over, day in and day out, each page a feast of knowledge as well as a lasting connection to the man who gave it to him.

He had until Tuesday to inform the school if he were staying over the break or not. Brother Gregory stopped him just this morning and mentioned the fact that all the other students had made their decisions, and the headmaster was waiting for William to declare his intentions; the implication was impatiently waiting while one twelve-year old dithered.

William felt defeated. Susannah's last letter barely restrained her excitement about seeing her beloved older brother again and contained a long list of activities she wanted to do with him and things she wanted to show him. He knew she was trying to reestablish the rhythm of their previous lives by bringing some of what they used to do as a family in Nova Scotia into the arrangement with their Aunt. He was reluctantly becoming aware of how impossible such a thing was: the past stayed firmly in the past. His parents were both gone, one to Glory and the other, most probably headed to Hades. His sister was a hundred miles away—or a thousand, it was all the same. Father Keegan had seemingly disappeared too—the only connection William's previous life that was left to him were the smooth pages of his Dictionary. That would have to be his consolation.

He looked to the Heavens for succor but only found the high ceiling and a few curls of paint where water had seeped through. He scowled-no Divine intervention. Another loud sigh escaped him and echoed in the empty room. William's stomach felt heavy. I have no more excuses. Not even the weather is going to cooperate by offering me a convenient snow storm…  
He rummaged around for a fresh sheet of paper, staring at its blank surface to calm his mind and compose the message. I've had to tell my sister harder things than this, he reasoned. "My Dearest Sister Susannah," was what he heard in his head.

"Dear Aunt Emily…" appeared on the page instead.

William blinked, momentarily surprised, then he shrugged thinking this might actually be the best course. I'll write Aunt Emily and explain that I will not be coming and ask her to soften the blow for Susannah, then I'll enclose a second letter for Susannah to open after Mass on Christmas Eve.

He bent his head to the page, now able to rapidly fill it up with his well-wishes for his Aunt's holidays and a blessed new year, explaining that at the last minute he discovered he was unable to get to Moncton and would miss them both and be thinking of her and his sister at this most Holy time of year. Then he took a second sheet and wrote out a more affectionate letter to Susannah asking her to forgive him for not being there and asking her to keep writing him as it brought him great comfort to get her letters. He promised they would spend time together this summer-as much as she wanted and he would think up a special treat for her.

None of it was a lie, even if it was not the whole truth. William suspected he resisted sending the letter until now to spare himself as much as his sister, calling himself a fool for trying to avoid the inevitable. Perhaps this is what Father Keegan would have advised after all, even if William failed to find joy in it. Inside Susannah's letter, he enclosed a flat wooden bookmark, threaded with a bit of red satin and embossed with "SM" and Saint Catherine's shattered wheel, which William had been working on for weeks as a gift for her. When he finished, he put it all in an envelope and sealed it up. Monday he would send it off with one of his hard-earned pennies and inform Father O'Brien to expect him to be staying on until the next term started in January.

# # #

DECEMBER 24, CHRISTMAS EVE, 1875

The stars overhead were brilliant now that the fog lifted, revealing a black vault of Heaven over Susannah and her aunt as they made their way out of the front door of their small house, right on Robinson and down to Main Street. The two lady boarders, also Catholic, joined them for the walk to church, eventually turning left on Main then a block over to travel up Church Street to Saint Bernard's for Mass. Inside the house, a dutch oven was already slowly working its magic on a tough piece of beef nestled in onions, some carrots and potatoes, so that several hours later when the four of them came back, a hearty stew awaited as their Christmas repast.

Susannah was careful not to show her Aunt Emily anything more than a mild disappointment at her brother's decision to stay at St. Ignatius. She walked solemnly next to her aunt with her head up, hands clasped together inside a rabbit fur muff, which was a gift from her aunt and the lady boarders. She was well-pleased with such a surprise and it made her feel quite grown and lady-like. She had to remind herself to stop wishing William was here to see it, contenting herself to look at the constellations which he might be viewing tonight and knowing he was on his way to Mass and the same rituals she was about to attend, offering the only consistently she ever enjoyed in her chaotic life. Aunt Emily had been quite uncharacteristically sympathetic when she delivered the bad news.  
"I miss my sister, your mother, too," her aunt said simply, accompanied by dishes of tea and a small cake for them to share. This kindness made learning about her brother's absence easier to bear, and Susannah looked forward to the promised letter from William to read after services tonight. She had already cottoned to the notion he was not coming—his letters had been indirect about his plans—he never did promise he'd be there after all, and he always, always kept his promises. She was in fact more immediately disappointed there would be no sleigh ride, but as the street was dry and it was a mild night, walking suited them perfectly.

Susannah began to enjoy the gathering of the faithful making their way to Saint Bernard's, smiling at those she knew and observing the greetings offered to Aunt Emily as they walked. She allowed herself to be swept by the crowd to the church and up the steps, already focusing her mind and intentions on the celebration. This is nothing like Christmas Mass at tiny St. Ambrose Church back home, she thought, after blessing herself and appreciating the fine new white altar-cloth and decorations, the sea of people trying to find a pew and enjoying the organ music. She was so absorbed looking around that she failed to notice someone standing up and blocking her path in the aisle.

"Hello, Susannah," called a familiar voice.

"William?!" She rushed into her brother's arms in an instant and felt him pull her off her feet in a strong embrace. Their reunion blocked the aisle for a moment before she genuflected and slid into a seat next to him, and he nodded to his aunt in greeting. "What are you doing here? How did you get here?" Susannah could not stop squeezing his hand and her smile was so broad her cheeks hurt.  
To him, his sister's warmth was like a balm for a wounded soul. He had not counted on being so anxious to see her and so happy to have her close to him again. William found his own feelings were flooding him, demanding he pause before speaking.

How indeed. He'd quite given up hope of ever getting enough money to make the trip, when he was approached by a classmate. "So, William, I hear you miss your little sister. Too bad you cannot get home to see her."

He denied it of course and was taken aback when Marcus, who was the other first year boy staying at St. Ignatius over the break, approached him in the hallway between the dining room and the dormitory. "You are not the only one that can find things out. Your pillow is not the most secure location for secrets," the boy taunted him. William balled his fists and stiffened, feeling violated and ridiculous for having kept anything in so obvious a place. "Relax," Marcus said. "You have something Thomas wants and he has something I want." He leaned in conspiratorially, and opened one of his pockets. "And I have something you want." Inside the pocket were several paper notes and many coins.

William remembered how his eyes widened at the sight and he glanced furtively to make sure no one was overhearing them. "Where did you get so much money? If you…" William's thoughts immediately went to wagering, theft or extortion of some kind.

"I said relax. Me' mum's been sending me little bits here and there behind me' dad's back. She thinks I have somewhere to spend it out here!" Both of them laughed a little nervously at that. "What Thomas's father wants more than anything is good grades. Unlike you, our parents pay for the privilege of having us out here, so they expect something in return. You get good grades, near the top of the class aren't you? Well, Thomas would very much like to have your Dictionary because he thinks it will help him in school. If you part with it to him you can have enough money to get your ticket—maybe a little more. What do you think?"

William's whole body went on high alert, and his chest tightened. "Sell you my Dictionary?" He was appalled. That book was a lifeline to him in a way he could not articulate and was his only remaining keepsake from Father Keegan. He loved that book. "What do you get out of this?" he inquired, feeling suspicious about the whole deal. He got a never-you-mind in return, and a suggestion to consider the offer.

William had actually prayed about it and mulled it over for several days, right up until late Thursday when he found Marcus to make the trade. Then it was an all-out scramble to talk Father O'Brien into letting him leave at the last minute, pack, get a ticket and get to town in time for the train. He arrived in Moncton via the last engine to pull into the station from the north and walked straight to the church to wait for Susannah.

Susannah who was now right beside him, about to join him at Christmas Mass, and waiting for an answer. Parting with that gift from Father Keegan was excruciating, but being away from her was worse- at least right now, at least this Christmas. He hoped the priest, wherever he was, would understand, perhaps approve. Besides, William had memorized the entire book already, just as he recalled every conversation they'd ever had and each encounter with Father Keegan, locked away in his brain to give him advice and guidance as if the priest still mentored him.

William struck a hard bargain over the book, without much lingering regret—but he did negotiate cutting the inscription out of the book to keep. That was wise in any event—eventually he'd be asked where his book went and the beauty part was going to be he could honestly say he did not sell it to Thomas, merely gave it to him, saving face and future trouble for all three of them.

William hoped he had Father Keegan's blessing still. He turned to Susannah and decided to tell his sister the truth. "I found a way. You wanted me to come, you asked me to come. Under those circumstances, how could I say no?"

The congregation was settling down, preparing for Mass which might last an hour and a half or more tonight. Susannah's smile never left her face. "You're home in Moncton!"

William smiled back. "No, Susannah," he told her. "You are home to me."

-END-

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Reader: Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I hope you enjoyed it and I hope it made you think! I have tried to fill in only where the canon is otherwise silent (unlike William I do not possess a nearly eidetic memory, so if I missed something I beg forgiveness)—any accuracy you see is because my MMFF friends helped me—errors are my own, or a deliberate choice in service of the story. I could not find any hard evidence of a Jesuit secondary school in 1875 in Nova Scotia or New Brunswick (the internet was stingy in that regard) so I created it. Moncton was as I describe it (including having a huge town municipal school building), the situation of Catholics, cost of mail and train fares and wages was also as I indicated (or so Google says!) Please give me feedback/reviews—it is painless to do—just type and press 'send' . I am particularly interesting in your own view(s) about what shaped William into the personality we have come to know and love and look forward to correspondence on that topic—who knows, it may make its way into a new story! - Happy Holidays and a bright New Year! -rg


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